A/N: It's #MonsterMonday! And this one is hot... *fans self*

My muse is in love with my newest story - Drag Him From Heaven, Drag Him From Hell - so I am going to try to continue writing them both at the same time. If you're enjoying this one, please let me know so that I don't become neglectful of it. I'm considering pulling it, rewriting it and posting it again at a later date if the interest isn't there...which would give me time to get Kait's backstory Fairest of Them All written and ready to go. Your opinion counts!

Feedback: What writer doesn't want to know how they're doing? I'd love to hear from you...but I'm willing to take it a step further - I am also a reader, I check the profiles of my reviewers and I make sure to return the favor to those who write. Not a writer yet, but want to be? I also beta and I am more than willing to discuss ideas with aspiring writers.

Special thanks to stephaniew...she is a big part of why I started posting this one in the first place. Check her out and show her some love!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Chapter 6: This Is Why He's Hot

It was hot. So hot you could see the heat rising in waves on the asphalt. She'd needed a distraction. Something to get her out of the room and away from her thoughts. Something to keep her from crying. So, she'd pulled out her swimsuit. The one she had packed on a whim. The one she had bought because of all the ties for Dean to wrap his fingers around.

She shivers. Heaven help her, she loved the way he undressed her. The way his eyes and hands wandered. She dives into the deep end of the pool and swims graceful laps. The water is cool and a little refreshing, but nothing can take away the burn of being without him. It just feels wrong. But she knows she has to be strong. Knows that even if Sam is right - that this is temporary, that he'll come back to her - they've got a long road ahead. She promises she won't just let him right back in.

She reaches the steps and smiles at the red paint on her toenails as she climbs up them. She twists her thick hair over one shoulder to wring some of the water from it. A shadow falls over her. She looks up and into wild green eyes. Eyes that caress her body the same way his hands do - rough and hungry. "Hello, Dean..."


On instinct, he walks to the pool. He arrives just in time to see her emerging from the water. To watch it running over her skin in tiny rivers. To see the way the red bikini clings to her like a second skin. The way every man in the areas eyes are glued to the sway of her hips and backside as she climbs the stairs.

His own eyes wander from her cleavage up to her face. Her eyes are closed as she smoothes the water from her hair. She arches deliciously in a way that makes him lick his lips. When she catches him looking at her, he tugs his lower lip between his teeth.

"Hello, Dean," she says slowly as she takes the remaining step out of the pool.

"Where's your towel?" he growls.

She raises her brows. "On the chair where I left it," she answers, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. The action only serves to increase her cleavage.

"Cover up," he demands.

"No," she answers simply.

"We need to talk," he husks.

She sighs. She's not going to cave to this behavior. Giving him his way is out of the question. "Yes," she agrees. "We do."

"Where's your room?" he asks, grabbing the towel from the chair next to her flip flops. He wraps it around her, shielding her from prying eyes.

Unmoved by his caveman behavior, she unwraps the towel. Propping a foot on the chair, she delicately draws it over first one long leg and then the other. It's deliberate, agonizingly slow, and she does it without looking at him. "Nothing wrong with talking here," she says after a stretch of silence.

"Not private," he snarls.

Giving in is admitting defeat. It's letting him back in. She knows what will happen the second they're alone. She knows she'll forget, if only temporarily.

He takes her arm, half dragging her behind him. She wrenches away with a huff and goes back for her shoes and the towel. She takes her time winding it around her, ignoring the impatience in his breathing.

She stalks across the parking lot. It's difficult staying two steps ahead of him with the difference in their height, but she manages. She needs to be in control. She needs to be the boss this time. To call the shots. So she stops at the Charger, reaching into the trunk and grabbing another bag.

"What was so important that we needed to discuss it behind closed doors?" Kaitlyn asks as they finally walk into her motel room. She flicks on the light. "What are you afraid of, Dean?"

He closes the door, immediately pressing her back against it. "I don't like to share," he growls, his mouth hot on hers as he parts the towel wrapped around her. It drops heavily to floor at her feet. His hands roam her skin, as he presses against her.

"It's a bikini, Dean," she says breathlessly. Her hands fist in his t-shirt. She purrs, biting her lip as his fingertips stroke down the curve of her waist. His touch is possessive, hands gliding over parts of her body she's sure the men at the pool looked at. Parts that no other man has touched in a long time.

"It's a scrap," he complains. He continues to touch her with his hands and his mouth. He devours her, all of his senses taking her in. It's overwhelming, intoxicating. He can't get enough. He was wrong to send her away and he knows it. Somehow - right now - that detail seems unimportant. She's here. She's with him. That's all that matters.

She tries to shift away, her body crying out in protest as his hands are momentarily forced from her. She's missed him. Needed him. Wanted to have him close. "I thought we were going to talk..."

His breath burns against her ear as he grunts, "Talking's over-rated."

"I'm serious..." she protests. A whimper creeps out, erasing the hard line she's attempted to draw. The line she had promised herself he'd need a damn good explanation before she'd let him cross.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles, his mouth otherwise occupied and trying to distract her. "This is serious," he husks, eyeing the mirrors on the ceiling over the bed. "Incredibly urgent."

It's hard to be frustrated as he works her over, but still she fights it. Fights to keep control. Fights to remain standing and capable of speech. "You're not playing fair," she warns.

"Since when have I ever played fair?" he smirks, drawing his t-shirt up and dropping it to the floor. He pulls her hands to his chest before running his own up over her breasts to her shoulders. He plucks at the strings tied behind her neck, his smile predatory as they come undone. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to her shoulder. He lowers her top, his hands caressing the newly bared skin.

His eyes are nearly molten when he gives her the look. The one that makes her body temperature rise ten degrees and causes her melt. The one that tells her he's coming after her panties and she has no hope of keeping them.

And that's when he kisses her. So softly at first she barely feels it. He deepens it, working her over with his tongue and stealing her breath.

"Dean," she whimpers, her mind warring with her body as she pulls him closer.

His hands wander her back, drifting low to her hips and bikini bottoms. The deep red contrasts sinfully with her skin. He fondles the ties at the sides. His eyes gaze into hers as he wraps the ends around his fingers. All he needs to do is give them a nice firm...yank.

"I love this suit," he tells her as he places open-mouthed kisses over her chest, as he undoes the last tie behind her back, dropping the wet article to the floor. He samples the flavor of her skin with gentle sweeps of his tongue, watching as her breathing quickens. "So sexy," he croons as his lips close around a taut peak causing her to gasp. "It's even sexier on the floor."

Her fingers twist into his hair. "Oh, God," she breathes.

"You can call me Dean," he commands, the rough tone of his voice petting her every bit as much as his hands. He works to rid himself of his remaining clothes, leaving them standing in front of each other completely naked.

She stares at him, panting as she struggles to forget what it feels like to be splay beneath him, wrapped around him, filled by him. To remember what they were fighting about. To remember how she could be angry at him when he made her feel this way. She reaches for him, moaning at the contact.

He needs to make her wild, drive her out of her mind with desire. To feel her - all of her - as she writhes beneath him. Needs to make her forget that nothing is more important than being together. He knows she's getting there when her hands roam his body, groping at his skin. "What you do to me..." he growls.

She laughs, when he pushes her onto the bed. She gives his body an appraising once-over as he slides over her, stopping to lick and nibble along the way. "Feeling lucky, Winchester?" she purrs, forcing him into the mattress.

"I'm pretty sure you'll be the lucky one when I'm finished with you," he entices, the pad of his thumb sliding over her swollen lower lip. He moans, his eyes closing as she sucks the digit.

He loves her mouth. Whether they're fighting, kissing or doing other things, he knows he'll never get enough of it as long as he lives. He teases her flushed skin with calloused hands. Always just enough to leave her wanting more. Enough to make her hungry. As hungry as she makes him.

She leans down, pressing her lips to his in a fiery kiss. He brushes her hair over her shoulders, his hands slipping down her back. They massage and pull her into him. He can't remember a time when he felt this way about anyone else. When he would do anything for anyone other than Sam. More than that, he can't remember a time when he was so willing to surrender - to completely let go. A time when he wanted to have that effect on someone else. He wants her to let go. To watch her shatter into a million tiny pieces at his touch.

She squirms against his abdomen as he strokes her, teasing her into a frenzy of epic proportions. He longs to taste her. To drink her in and make her cry out. He hates that he has to choose. Worries that trying to reverse their positions again would give her time to think. Time to remember and back off. That this would end. That they'd be unfulfilled.

She grows more slick under his fingers. Her eyes roll with pleasure, her head falling back. He can see her eyes are closed in the mirrors above them, that she's unable to watch the beauty of her face as her orgasm dawns. He wants her to see it - to see what he does to her. He moves to join them, to fuse them together. When he aligns their bodies, she's more than ready. She greedily seats herself in his lap, taking him in quickly. She undulates, grinding against him and taking her fill. She's wet and wanton, wild above him.

Dean feels her getting closer. Feels the little ripples of satisfaction that tear through Kaitlyn's body and reach his. He rolls her beneath him, his lips brush over her throat. His breath is hot on her ear when he makes his demand, "Open your eyes."

As she quivers beneath him, it hits her. The thing that makes this room different from others she's stayed in. The thing that she had laughed about when she noticed...only to cry later at the thought of how much enjoyment he'd have gotten out of it. She bites her lip, the comment she had made to ease the sadness coming to mind. Dean and Kaitlyn make a porno. 'Cause that would be hot...

He licks the shell of her ear. "Open your eyes, Kaitlyn," he pleads. "I want you to see what I see when you fly over the edge." He suckles her earlobe. "I want you to see the look you get when I make you come."

She can't deny him - can't ignore the demand in his voice - so she looks up. She sees her eyes blazing with lust, sees the taut and sexy lines of his back as he thrusts. She watches her hands as they touch him. The way her nails rake gently over his flesh. It's hot and a little embarrassing. Decadent and maddening. She sees the way she arches beneath him, the way she uses her legs to draw him in. She watches the shape her mouth forms as she cries out his name just before her eyes slam shut.

Her excitement - the way she moves and cradles his body - drags him over the edge of his own climax. When he moves, it's to lay next to her, his fingers twisting around hers. They both drift in the after-glow, barely hanging on the precipice of consciousness.

"That was," he begins, turning his head to look at her.

Shifting onto her side, she finishes, "Intense." Her fingers brush over the tattoo on his chest. "You're..."

He snickers. "Hot."

"Not enough space in here for your ego, Dean," she teases. Pulling the pillow from beneath her head, she hits him with it. "God, you're out of control..."

He moves over her, making her gasp as he kisses her thoroughly. Pulling back, his eyes seek hers. "Because you make me that way..."

When he tries to take her lips again, she pushes him away. "I'm not falling into the same trap twice," she tells him. "You came here for a reason, Dean. Start talking."